Takamagahara
by Zselia
Summary: Though his angel has passed on, Otonashi continues to stay stuck in the Afterlife, taking over her role of Student Council President. His second story begins with the arrival of new members, both strangers and people he knows, but when the nature of the Aterlife begins to unravel, he becomes the centre of a heavenly coup d'état that will push his mind more than ever before.
1. Prologue: Another Story

AN: First story on the site, so I want to just say a few words. Firstly, I'm not the best author—as most people themselves know—but I do try. If you get through each chapter, please leave a comment on your thoughts, as it helps a lot and keeps me motivated. Secondly, I'm writing this because it's the 10 year anniversary of AB! this year, and I've had this story in my mind for around four years now. I won't be doing too many of these ANs, so with that out of the way, please, enjoy.

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_00\. Prologue: Another Story_

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"So what about you?" Otonashi asked, his grip on the boy's shirt still firm.

Otonashi did not tower over the boy, but the few inches he had over him—coupled with his sharp, transfixed gaze—made him quiver in slight fear and dread, and eventually the boy averted his locked gaze away to the ground.

But although he faltered, he did not give up.

He was determined to find out what this place was about . . . this Afterlife, this school. Why he was here. And he was determined to not give in to some self-proclaimed boss of the student body. Not here.

Spitting at his test paper, he gritted his teeth and looked at Otonashi, the repulsiveness in his eyes gleaming red.

"Right now"—the boy said, seizing the Student Council President's hand from his shirt and forcing him off him—"it's the courage to stand against_ you_!"

All of the NPCs in the classroom looked at the scene unfolding, watching both of the participants eagerly. Despite their own wishes to be free of any trouble-making traits, they would not miss any fights and arguments made by humans, for it was in their nature.

Although he did not seriously intend to cause harm to the newcomer, Otonashi gave a look of surprise, and then he closed his eyes and gave a small smile.

"Okay. See? You can do it," he explained. Beginning to slowly turn and walk away, his voice almost echoing like an angel's dream. "You know what to do now. If you ever feel resentful or lost again, come to the Student Council Room. I'll be there waiting for you, for as long as you need."

The room roared in bewilderment and excitement as the _fusuma_ sliding door was quietly shut by the red-haired President.

But the boy was still shocked at how cool and calm he was, despite concerning himself with a delinquent like him. He kept standing, looking out of the windows, seeing him walk down the hallway to the end, where the Student Council Room lay.

His den. Lair.

I've never been there before, he told himself, thinking hard about the words that were told to him. Maybe I should take him up on his offer.

"Oi, oi, keep it down!" the teacher shouted, causing all of the girls causing loud chatter about the President to quickly shut up, and the boys lamenting about how they could never be as cool as him died down in an instant. "Concentrate on the test"—the teacher's busy eyes landed on the most troublesome person in the class—"you too; get back in your seat!"

The demand rang in the boy's head much like the President's words, but he had had enough already. Refusing to sit down, he gritted his teeth once more, and scrunched up his test paper.

"To hell with this!" he shouted at the teacher, and then sprinted out of the class, taking no care with how hard he shoved the _fusuma_ sliding door open and closed.

He couldn't remember his name.

He couldn't remember who he was.

But he couldn't go to him. Not yet. He wasn't ready. He wasn't the one. _There's a rumour going around that he's waiting for someone,_ the others said. But he wasn't the one.

Not yet.

And then, as he ran out of the main school complex, he saw yet another person he didn't recognise, his fiery, spiky hair being the only remarkable thing about his appearance, save for the green _hachimaki _he wore around his head.

There, he lay on the ground just like how he did on his first day. Confused, but intrigued, he walked towards the unconscious teenager with caution in every step.

Gleaming grey eyes awoke to the sound of his footsteps.


	2. Soul Friends

_01\. Soul Friends_

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Leaning back on the chair in the Afterlife Battlefront's headquarters, Otonashi swept his rustic fringes to the sides behind his ears.

_They're getting longer. I need to cut them sometime. I prefer it when they're—_

No, he couldn't say it. It hurt too much to remind himself of everyone. He couldn't even think about it.

It had been a long time since everyone from the Battlefront had passed on . . . since they were obliterated.

_Tch. _

He hated that word. Obliterated. It brought his memories from back when he first arrived here, when the leader of the Battlefront, Yuri, when everyone was so scared of succumbing to what they thought was _God_.

"As if there ever was any god," he said, straightening his posture.

He looked around the large room, filled with the same things as the time before when everyone existed in this realm with him: one three-seater sofa to one side, two single-seaters on the other, with the projector, bookshelf cabinet, and various other items that reminded him of his friends—their own precious, signature items that they left behind in the wake of accomplishing their goals. Then, his eyes crossed a part that he seldom really looked at: the pictures of all of the previous principals of the Afterlife school, but he was surprised—he chuckled a lot—at the sight that Yuri's face was on every single one of them. It made him wonder just how long she had been here before he arrived.

"She was more of a god than anyone else here," he muttered, pushing the chair back.

Otonashi's trailing thoughts prompted him to do something more with his time, though he knew that time had no meaning in this world. He stood up and turned the projector on, flicking through saved memories they created when they were together—and then he stopped, suddenly, on one.

Kanade.

His face balled up solemnly, like a fist raging with sadness, and the tears followed down like a stream. There was only one picture. Only one. Just one. They didn't think to make videos of themselves, as he so desperately wanted. Just . . . one . . . picture.

Otonashi scanned the picture as much as he could, remembering how she felt in his arms, how she was never fazed by the _mapo tofu_ in the school cafeteria, despite it emflaming his insides every time. He looked at it again, again, again, even though he knew the pain of losing a loved one twice. Seeing this picture again shouldn't have fazed him. Yet it struck his heart again, just like all the times before.

He had no purpose.

_Wait. _

_There's that one person. The one I talked to last period. The boy with no name. _

"I had no name when I came here. He'll come when he wants to—when he needs to," he mused. As Student Council President, he had a duty to the students, to the NPCs, but, most of all, to the people like him. To new Battlefront recruits, just like how his predecessor helped him.

Suddenly, his own invention—a radar that detected humans in this afterlife world—_bleeped_ and a small dot appeared in one of the outer rings.

_Someone new has arrived._

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The boy that was unconscious awoke suddenly and shot up, seeing nothing but the tangerine sunset above him, the clouds a mess.

"Ah!" the other boy exclaimed, taking two steps back from the sudden movements of the stranger in front of him. "Are you . . . all right?"

The fiery-haired boy slowly came to, and he took to his feet almost immediately, but his vision become blurred with stars; his head felt dizzy, and he stumbled to the ground again.

"Hey, hey, easy now. You look like you've been out for a while," he cautioned to the stranger, though he looked as though he would not cause any harm. If anything, his shorter stature and lightheadedness assured that he would lose, if a fight ever broke out suddenly.

_Wait, why am I helping this guy? I need to be helping myself . . . but I can't just leave him. I was like this once, and there was no one for me._

Crimson red locked with glimmering grey. And, as if they had known each other their whole lives, their past lives, they smiled. Laughed. When their wordless conversation died, he offered a hand to help him up, which he accepted.

"There's an infirmary just up these stairs in the main building," he said, pointing to it, keeping the stranger's arm wrapped around his own body to keep him from falling. "Come on, let's go."

But after he made the first step, he felt a hand come onto his shoulder. He looked to the side and saw the stranger looking at him quizzically.

"I appreciate this a lot, uh . . . . Who are you, exactly?" he asked.

In response, he smiled in what he thought was the first time since he arrived there. "I . . . can't remember my name. Maybe you're the same."

"The same boat, eh?"

"It definitely looks that way, yeah. Come with me," the blond boy replied, "and I can tell you all I know."

"And how do I know I can trust you?"

"You can't," he replied, "but I can assure you you won't die. It's impossible."

The stranger's eyes widened and lit up in shock at what he was hearing. "What do you mean 'impossible'?"

"Beats me."

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When Otonashi reached the place at which he first appeared—the place where everyone tended to appear—he could not find anyone.

"That's odd," he mused, checking the area for any signs. "They're usually here. I guess—wait, the infirmary!"

It wasn't unusual for people to feel lightheaded, weak, or seemingly in pain when they first arrived here. After all, he was in a daze when he first awoke . . . shortly followed by a stab to his hollow chest.

But when Otonashi welcomed himself into the infirmary, he collapsed into a state of shock at the sight before him, bringing down several chairs with him as he found himself into a sudden cold sweat at the sight of a familiar person.

"I-I-Iga . . . rashi?"


	3. Apology

_02\. Apology_

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_Step. Step. Up the stairs. Up you go. Up again. Like before. Like the first time you came here. _

A headache. What a pain. Otonashi clasped his head—the side, his temples—as he climbed the stairs to the infirmary's lone ward. He wondered if this spike of pain was related to the new person who just arrived. He was sure that they were in here. He had a feeling.

When he reached the end of the long, long hallway, he was faced with shut doors. His fingers wormed their way onto the edges and heaved them to the side, but a stationary rattle was all he received.

Locked.

Again, again, again. No matter how many times he tried, his way forward was blocked.

_Bash it. Slam it. Break it. I dare you,_ Yuzuru.

He stepped back against the windows . . . and then he threw his side against the door, causing it to crack. Again. The cracks turned into splits, and then the splits evolved into rifts.

Whines turned to whimpers that turned to screams and sighs. But Otonashi didn't hear any of that. He just heard himself in his head and the cries that followed him around.

_I want to meet them so badly. I want to welcome them here. Like I did with that boy. _

He peered through the small holes; his eyes widened when he saw short hair of blond and dark red. They were here. With him.

"Hey, you two!" he called out to them. "I know you're in there! Why have you locked me out?"

Otonashi's burgundy eyes shone at the two of them in the cracks. Crashing his body into the door once more, the frame faltered for the last time and gave way, fracturing into many, many tiny pieces that lay scattered on the ward's glossy floor. He stepped forwards once, only once, and looked up at the new person.

Fire. Spiked hair. Those eyes. No way out. There was no way out.

_Green. That green hachimaki. I've seen him before. _

Otonashi himself faltered, stumbling down to his knees to the side of the ward, bringing down several chairs with him as the two in front of him watched him in fear. A cold sweat befell him so soon and quickly, getting to his head.

He wanted to be happy. He saw him, and his old friend saw him too. They exchanged glances; he smiled, but the newcomer waived their common ground away the moment he looked at Otonashi in horror and disgust.

"Iga . . . rashi?" he said, his tone the complete opposite of only moments before. "Is it . . . you?"

This was no time to be happy. Here, in this world, there was nothing to be happy for. In this moment, Otonashi realised that the person that helped all those people long ago was no more. Someone else was before him this time.

The boy in front of him calmed his eyes, however they no longer gleamed like their last encounter with each other. There was no instant connection, no instant soul like between friends, no nothing.

"H-Have we . . . met before?"

Otonashi stood back up, his face screaming undisturbed in silence. His mind racing, his heart pounding, he opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out, save from the short peck of saliva from the closure of his sweating lips. Bringing himself back to his feet, Otonoashi responded with three steps—_step, step, step_—forward to the bed his former friend lay comfortably in.

"Take another step," the blond boy warned, having risen out of his seat to protect his new ally. He had watched enough of this scene unfold without taking action.

Otonashi's gaze switched from the transfixation of Igarashi to hostile daggers he wanted to throw at the blond boy, but he knew better than to start a fight in the infirmary ward. Raising his hands, Otonashi explained with a smirk on his face, "I have no intention of fighting."

His crimson-eyed underclassman gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes at him. "Bull. Shit. I know about those rumours. About you creating a blade from your hand. You came to kill us."

Igarashi's horrified expression turned into pure terror and fear, feeling the rising tension between the two. "Murder?" he said out loud, his state of mind completely disoriented from what was happening.

Challenging the Student Council President, the underclassman invaded his space. Out of his pockets, he rivalled the power he had with something of his own by pulling it out, ready, with his fingers on the trigger: a Beretta M9A3. He took aim and brought it level to Otonashi's head.

Igarashi looked at both of them with sorrowful tears and a look of disdain, looking back and forth at their vendetta-filled eyes. "Why would you say something like that? And you"—he motioned at Otonashi—"who are you?"

"Don't ask him questions. He's killed me before."

"What?" he said, bewildered, thinking back on what he said earlier. "I thought you said you couldn't die? That it was—"

"Impossible," Otonashi finished, stepping out of the room, almost as if he forgot that his underclassman held a gun to his head. He stared back at Igarashi once more. "If he said that, he'd be lying."

The hand that held the gun shook, but eventually it was lowered and became relaxed. The boy put the pistol away behind his blazer, sighing as he fixed eyes with Otonashi. "I swear I will find out who or what you are, Otonashi."

The Student Council President averted his gaze and became lost in the space around the three of them, looking solemn and empty. "No."

The two companions cocked their heads, puzzled at Otonashi's quick change of words. "No?" they both asked in unison.

"You asked," Otonashi bluntly said, pointing at Igarashi. "It's delayed. But I answered."

"But why Igarashi?" he replied, eager to know why he said that name.

"I thought I knew you from another life, but it seems like we don't know each other, that much is clear," he clarified, giving a deep and sincere bow to the both of them. "I'm sorry. As Student Council President, I shouldn't have barged in, and I should be more mindful of how I act to transfer students to this school. Truly, it won't happen again."

For the first time in years, Otonashi felt something. For the first time, he felt pain, sorrow, and regret. The sound of his footsteps gradually quietened, but they were loud enough to reverberate off of every speck of wall they could find.

_I'm sorry, sorry, sorry. Forgive me for not being strong enough. Forgive me for not hanging in there. Forgive me for a tainted future. _

_And tainted memories. _


	4. Recollections

_03\. Recollections _

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_Thud, thud, thud. Let me out, let me out—out, out, out!_

When Otonashi's steps faded away, the two sighed and smiled at each other, with the blond boy tracing the gun he had in his blazer's inner pocket with his fingers. Calmed, his head turned to the broken down door and said, "Always knew he was crazy, but he's a madman."

"You're tellin' me. Igarashi . . . ," he mumbled, trailing off, looking back in his mind to moments before—to what Otonashi said and asked. "I don't know."

"That your name?" the blond boy asked, pacing round the room.

"'I don't know' is the answer to that one," he replied and chuckled slightly, moving himself to the side of the bed he was laying on. "I guess it must be."

"Let's hope you aren't some bad omen or something, then."

Puzzled, Igarashi raised a brow at his new friend. "What do you mean?"

Their eyes of different colours locked once more. Close. Very close.

"Your name; it means 'fifty storms'. Let's hope we don't get nearly that many," he explained, walking to the sink on the opposite side of the room. He filled a paper cup up to the brim with water and downed it in one go. "There's enough bullshit happening here at the moment as it is."

"Hey, uh," the confused stray boy said, struggling to find the words to penetrate the stiff conversation. "I get that there's something going on between you two, but, uh, I don't really mean to be rude, but—"

"You want to know what's happening. Where you are, who I am, who he is. What this all is, right, Igarashi_-san_?" the boy asked, averting his eyes away as he knew he had no answers. He could not help anyone—not even himself.

Igarashi the newcomer nodded confidently, intent on finding the truth of all this, too deep in thought himself to really notice his friend's subtle movements. "I want to know."

The blond boy took a few deep breaths before sitting back down in the chair that was next to the bed Igarashi sat on the edge of. "First's first is my name. I'm, er, well"—he fumbled around in the seat, unable to keep still as he could not remember his own name—"my name is Seiichi."

"Second, is, well, uh . . . ," he spluttered, unable to form a complete sentence regarding the matter of explanations. "What do you want to know, Igarashi_-san_? It's better if you ask."

Igarashi looked away and slightly up, holding his chin up like a student formulating questions for the classroom; eventually, after a long pause, he clicked his right hand, smiled, and asked, "So where are we? I take it this isn't some elaborate kidnapping, and I also take it you're not the kidnapper even if it was that."

"Even if someone had kidnapped us, our memories are too scrambled to make sense of anything before we came here," Seiichi continued, raising his hands and sighing. "We haven't been drugged; I'm certain. But . . . I am certain about one thing."

"What?"

"This all must be to do with Pres. Otonashi_-san_," he said, his pitch lowering as he felt the need to curse under his breath. "Rumour has it he's waiting for someone."

"Who? Or, I guess, why?" Igarashi pressed, having too many questions for Seiichi that he felt like he was a bother. He had one, single more important question for him, wanting to steer the conversation to a different path. "You said he's killed you once before? What did you mean by that?"

Seiichi's eyes glowed crimson once more as his eyes made their way to Igarashi's grey stones of eyes. "Igarashi_-san_, this is going to sound mad. Crazy. Because it is."

"Okay . . ."

"You and I? We're dead. This"—he motioned to the infirmary ward's windows, to the outside, where the campus was and the trees that marked the edges of this world—"this is the Afterlife. This is post-life."

"Post-life . . . . Seiichi_-san_, please, tell me. Everything. Everything that you know so far."

Though Igarashi's jaw had dropped and his eyed had widened to their furthest extents yet, the vermillion backdrop of a sky began to drop too, unveiling a confusing, tantalising fusion of sunset and moonrise to them and the students of this Afterlife school.

"I'll try." He brushed his hair to one side, stood up, and pointed to the students' halls of residence on the opposite side of the pitches. "But we should move. I'd rather talk where less people will be able to hear. God knows if anyone is listening right now."

As Seiichi hurriedly walked out of the room to the hallway, Igarashi stared at the broken door once more, wondering if anyone would clean it up.

This world was too puzzling for him at the moment.

"I reckon if God knew anything about this place, he'd be the first to tell. You can't go long without spilling secrets," Igarashi whispered, walking away quickly to catch up.


End file.
